


Rotational Dynamics

by donteatmyfingerprints



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteatmyfingerprints/pseuds/donteatmyfingerprints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 4x07</p><p>Shaw finds out that she likes pushing boundaries too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rotational Dynamics

Shaw isn’t sure what makes her say it.

 

She’s sure it has nothing to do with the fact that she knows Root’s been feeling rather alone in the last few weeks, without the machine, without a home, without a fixed identity. She’s sure it has nothing to with the fact that she’s so terrible at communicating what she really wants to say that when they made it back to her place, she actually ended up making Root translate those pages that Harold had printed even though she sure as hell knew how to destroy the virus.

 

She’d stepped out of her shower, having already taken the steps to decontaminate her clothes properly. She had been a doctor, for crying out loud. And while she was drying her hair with her towel, she’d walked over to the table where Root was focused on deciphering pages after pages of technical jargon and leaned over her shoulder. She spots a mistake. It occurs to her that Root must be really exhausted, and she feels terrible about goading her on with Tomas today, and then horrifyingly, before she can stop herself, Shaw hears herself go-

 

“Lie down and take off your top.”

 

Root stills in front on her; startled. And then a few seconds tick by, and Shaw senses the change in atmosphere and when Root turns her neck to look at her, there is barely repressed _delight_ in her expression. She opens her mouth to say something but Shaw beats her to the punch.

 

“Say a word, and I’m taking that back. Now go lie down. Face down.”

 

Root grins her brightest grin, pushes back the chair, drops her pen, and practically skips over to her bed. She turns her head around to look directly at Shaw, still grinning, hands working her buttons in front, and slides her shirt off. Shaw rolls her eyes at the display, and throws her towel aside, heading toward her cupboards to retrieve some oil. She senses Root’s eyes on her, on her exposed legs, as she hadn’t bothered to put pants on after the shower, but a simple black tank and underwear.

 

When she returns Root’s obediently lying facedown, bra still on. Well, this next bit is inevitable, and Shaw steels herself to say it.

 

“The bra too.”

 

Root pushes herself up on one elbow, and cranes her neck back to gape at Shaw, somewhat incredulously, thrilled but wholly confused by Shaw’s direct approach tonight. She opens her mouth to say something, but seems to remember Shaw’s warning and snaps her jaw shut, and turns back around, hands coming up behind her to unclasp her bra.

 

Shaw’s grinning herself by now, knowing all the willpower its taking for Root to keep her comments to herself. Shaw knows the whole day has got them both worked up; Tomas, Root’s annoyance with her, adrenaline on both their parts, gunfire… The way the tables turned to Shaw being the one with the upper-hand (not that Root has ever had the upper-hand, no way). She’s not sure what it is, but she knows she’s feeling bold tonight, and pushing Root is giving her a sort of heady rush.

 

When Root’s bra is thrown somewhere to the side of her bed, Shaw pushes her long hair aside, and waits a few moments. She really isn’t sure what’s driving her to _taunt_ Root like this, but she knows that seeing Root reeling without footing is making her very, very pleased.

  
Then, she raises her bottle of oil, and squeezes them down onto her back, taking note of the way Root tenses at the feeling of the cool liquid. She snaps the cap shut, throws it somewhere in the general direction of where Root’s bra had been tossed, and presses both hands down on Root’s back, feeling Root begin to relax under her palms.

 

Distantly, Shaw thinks about why she’s even doing this. Perhaps it's because she has no idea how to do anything that didn’t involve guns and violence and sex right, and god help her if Root ever wanted a comfort hug from her. This seemed like the next best possible option. Yes, that’s the only reason why she’s doing this. Not because she also derives some sort of pleasure from being in complete control of what happens next, plus being able to slide her hands all over Root’s back as much as she wanted.

 

Root moans into the bed, as Shaw rubs her thumbs on the muscles of her lower back. As she continues to grind out knots in her muscles, Shaw is now distinctly aware of the fact that Root’s moaning is getting more exaggerated, and also very aware of how she’s starting to feel not so much in control of where this is going, a little hot under her own collar. But, luckily, she was prepared for this.

 

Shaw tries not to give anything away. She works her way up Root’s back, to her neck, the oil providing the lubrication needed for her hands to flow without friction up to behind her ears, rubbing in circular motions, back down her neck, pressing down hard on two tensed up muscles, causing Root to groan again. Then, slowly, Shaw begins kneading the muscles above her shoulders, feeling them slowly start to relax, and branches out to her upper arms, rubbing all this while.

 

Through her haze of mind-numbing sensation and pleasure, Root distantly notes that Shaw stopped to pick something up. Probably she needed more oil. But she really _can’t_ think right now because Shaw’s hands are back on her arms, and she can feel Shaw’s body ghosting above her, loose hair brushing her skin, her breath occasionally tickling her neck and back. She can smell her shampoo, she can feel warmth radiating so near and yet not touching her, and Root thinks the whole of today enduring Shaw flirt with someone else is worth it if this is her treat at the end of it.

 

Shaw is working her way to her forearms now, sliding around her muscles with ease, and Root has never felt more like a piece of jelly. She is aware she is stupidly smiling at nothing, eyes closed, feeling utterly boneless. Absently she thinks Shaw should let her hair down more often. And then Shaw reaches her wrist, pulls her hands together in front of them so she can reach them better, and there’s a moment’s pause, and then she hears-

 

 _Zzzzzzpppppppp_.

 

Root’s eyes fly open, involuntarily letting out a huff of surprise, instinct causing her to jerk herself upwards. Except that she couldn’t, because one of Shaw’s hands are locked firmly on her wrists, holding them down, and Shaw’s nose was at her left ear, her good one, and that heat floating somewhere above her was suddenly very, very, pressed up against her naked back, and she thinks she can feel the tiny fibers on the fabric itself.

 

She freezes, suddenly feeling very, very much at Shaw’s mercy.

 

“I thought we both might need a reminder of those zip-ties, don’t you think?” Shaw’s voice is low and seductive in her ear, and she hears it deep in her bones, feeling the vibration of her voice against her neck and Root grits her teeth very, _very_ hard to make sure no undignified sounds escape her mouth.

 

“Well… where was I?” Shaw murmurs, and releases Root’s bound wrists to resume her kneading. Root pulls her elbows in and raises herself on them to try and turn, but Shaw pushes her head to face forward with one hand, and makes a _tut tut_ sound. Root obeys, but she doesn’t think she can relax now, so she doesn’t lie back down but stays on her elbows, her fingers tightening on her sheets in front of her.

 

When Shaw places her hands on Root’s hips and tugs upward, she thinks it’s a testament to how disoriented Root is because there’s no struggle or protest; she just obeys, allowing Shaw to lift her hips up to unbutton her jeans in front and slide them off her, dragging her underwear along.

  
Shaw takes a moment, to just stare at Root’s body, bare and tense in front of her. She’s normally a hard and fast sort of lover, but she discovers at this moment, that tonight she really, really wants to _push_ Root. Slowly, she places her legs on either side of Root, and presses her fingers onto Root’s ass, thumbs needling upwards. She works her way down to the back of Root’s thighs, and then back up again to her ass. Compared to the over-the-top groaning at the beginning, Root hasn’t made a single sound since having her wrists zip-tied together, and this is when Shaw knows that Root is _really_ affected.

 

Root’s body feels tense and poised to snap any moment, and blood rushes in Shaw’s body, her heart pumping faster than she would ever admit. She brings her hands past Root’s back, until they reach her shoulders again, and leaning down, she presses her mouth to Root’s neck, extremely aware of Root’s rigidity under her.

 

“You know, since you’ve been so good…” Shaw feels Root clench and unclench her jaw, and slides her left hand back down her ass, savouring the feel of her hard muscular back and thighs, coming to rest in between her legs. “I think I’ll move on to the real massage.”

 

And then, she presses down hard, on both sides of Root’s flesh, missing completely right where she knows Root really wants her. At this, Root jerks (well, as much as can with Shaw pinning her down like this), and inhales sharply.

  
Root is flooded with sensation as Shaw presses and rubs and kneads and grinds above and around her, sensation seemingly boiled down to the spot between her legs, Shaw’s fingers everywhere and nowhere and _not quite there_. Shaw’s alternating between feather light touches and hard, abrupt ones and Root is pretty sure she’s not lucid enough right now to do anything about it.

 

Then Shaw ghosts one finger directly over the center of her and then changes direction to continue _whatever god knows that woman is doing_ at the moment, and Root slams her head down onto her bound wrists in front of her, groaning low and harsh. She snaps her jaw shut, refusing to cave in and beg Shaw to just _fucking take her_ already.

 

She feels like she is going to explode and implode all at the same time if Shaw does not fucking stop _right this instant_ or take it fucking further, and she really, really wants something to relieve the unbelievable tension between her legs because she is sure she is going to _fucking kill someone right now_. Her fingers clench and unclench the sheets, and she is quaking and breathing so hard, that she ends up biting down on the plastic zip-ties, pulling and pushing; trying futilely to rip it from her wrists. The sting from it cutting into her skin is both a relief from Shaw’s fingers down south and a heightened sensation at the same time. She really, really wants to touch Shaw right now.

 

“Shaw,” Root hopes she sounds more composed than she feels, and the husky voice she hears is surely not hers. “Cut me loose.”

 

Shaw ignores her in favour of slipping down her body, and for a moment, Root prays really hard that she went to get her knife. But then she feels Shaw settle on the floor beside the bed, feels her legs being roughly pushed apart, and then _warm_ _breath_ settles on her core, and she knows she will not win this round.

 

When Shaw’s tongue brushes feather-soft across her aching, aching center Root is _appalled_ to hear herself _actually_ whimper, shrill and breathily as her eyes slide close. She almost misses the way Shaw groans at the wetness she knows she must have found there, because her entire world is thrown sharply into focus at the point between her legs. Root feels incapable of thinking, and she can only feel tongue, tongue, lips, teeth, tongue again and its like a camera lens, zoomed in, onto one concentrated spot where Shaw is licking her above, around and inside her and Root cannot stop her moans and her increasingly agitated biting and tugging at her wrist bindings.

 

“Shaw,” Root groans again, and it takes all of her willpower to form her next words through gritted teeth, “Shaw. Cut. Me. Loose.”

 

Shaw takes that as her cue to bury her tongue in further, and Root jerks her hips, using her knees to raise them up from the bed, grinding down harder on Shaw’s mouth, unintelligible sounds escaping her throat at the feeling of Shaw pressed up harder against her. Root realizes her mistake a second later, because the lifting up of her hips gave Shaw the angle to reach under and suddenly, she feels her clit being starkly enveloped by lips and tongue. And then, before Root can react, Shaw _sucks_. _Hard_.

 

This time, Root groans out loud, primal and guttural, not having the mind to censor herself and her knees buckle, the sensation overload enough to make Root collapse back down on the bed, forcing Shaw to dislodge. She exhales heavily into the sheets, and once again when Shaw’s hoarse voice echoes beside her ear without her expecting it, she shudders.

 

She feels the tickle of Shaw’s hair on her back, and her fingers itch to run through them.

 

“Mmm, you taste good.” At this Root’s patience has gone way past its limit and she hears herself snarl and whip her head around to face Shaw, smelling herself on Shaw’s lips, which only makes her even hungrier for Shaw. When Root darts forward to kiss her, Shaw pulls away and she hears herself make another frustrated growl.

 

“Shaw,” Root says warningly, and Shaw takes a moment to stare at the woman in front of her, her eyes dark and stormy with barely repressed desire, teeth clenched in something like defiance, jaw locked in the most hardened manner, sweating and breathing heavily, emotion and danger swirling in her expression, and she thinks she has never seen Root as sexy as she is now.

 

Shaw was distracted enough that Root finally managed to spin her body around to face Shaw, hooking one leg around her waist to hold her in place, with her elbows and whatever limited motion she can use from her hands. Root’s hands snap up to grab Shaw’s tank top, pulling her down. And as Root lunges for Shaw’s lips, Shaw pulls back, bringing Root along with the motion such as they are both sitting up now, with Root’s legs automatically wrapping around her, effectively straddling her lap. But Shaw has always been faster than Root, and she already has one hand behind Root’s head, grasping her hair and pulling it with enough force to make her face upwards, denying Root the kiss she intended.

 

Root moans again, feeling more and more aroused and murderous by the minute, and when Shaw’s lips and teeth start attacking her neck, she feels her fingers clawing at Shaw’s top, trying to get the shirt off so she can feel Shaw on her skin, even though she’s pretty sure she’s not really doing anything except tearing in spasmodic, random directions. Shaw’s hands are everywhere, nails digging into her back, sliding across her front, deliberately missing her nipples, once again not giving Root attention where she needs it most.

 

Then Shaw stops for a split second, her five digits resting at Root’s clavicle, before pressing down onto her flesh, dragging downward, her middle finger directly pressing onto Root’s nipple on the way down. The feeling was extraordinary, and Root desperately grinds herself onto Shaw, the same time her fingers works to pull Shaw toward her. But its not enough, she needs to feel Shaw’s skin against hers, she needs to feel her heat pressed up against her, needs to feel like she’s not the only one spiraling out of control.

 

Shaw takes immense pleasure in biting and suckling at Root’s neck, enjoying the way this incredibly brave, hot, clever, infuriating woman was unraveling in front of her. She wasn’t aware she had a playful side, but by the gods above, if a little (okay, a lot) teasing would let her see this wild, uninhibited side of Root, she would definitely learn to have one. In this moment, she is grateful the machine is unable to convey messages to Root, and there is no one to intrude in this moment that belongs to her and her alone.

 

And a little too late, she realizes that Root has gone completely still. With her mouth pressed against Root’s neck, she feels the rumble of Root’s next words more than she hears them.

 

“I’m so _wet_ ,” Root drops her voice low and right in Shaw’s ear, and grazes teeth over her earlobe, nibbling softly. And then she switches to saccharine sweet, almost purring against Shaw as she inhales, her chest movement causing Shaw to be momentarily distracted as her nipples brush Shaw’s palms again. She runs a tongue over the shell of Shaw’s ear.

 

“I’m _dripping_ ,” she drags out her syllables, humming. “Don’t you want to feel how wet I am?” Shaw nods stupidly against Root’s collarbone and makes an indistinct noise, her lips brushing the surface of her hot skin.

 

“You know what I think? I think you got yourself as worked up as you got me. I think you want to _touch_ me. I think you want to _fuck_ me, right now. I think you want me to scratch you. I think you _need_ my hands on your skin. I think you want to take that _fucking_ _knife_ and bring it here.”

 

And that voice switching at the end to authoritative command, hoarse from groaning and moaning and seductive as the day she met Root, made Shaw finally relent, and she reached under her pillow to grab a small switchblade.

 

Root makes a disbelieving sound at knowing that all this time, the knife was within reach, and Shaw smirks as she deliberately lowers her knife to the zip-tie in between them, and locks eyes with Root as she slices them open.

 

The moment the zip-tie loosens- Root slaps at Shaw’s hand, not considering that Shaw’s reflexes might accidentally lash back at her. But Shaw indulges her this time, allowing her to knock the knife out of her hands, grab her by her hair and finally, finally colliding their lips together.

 

Root can still taste herself on Shaw’s tongue, and she moans, unrestrained, biting and sucking and she has never appreciated the freedom her hands have more, to roam around Shaw and force her closer, _goddamnit_. She feels Shaw’s hair, still damp from her shower, and she relishes the long strands, free from their usual tied-up manner. She doesn’t care how aggressive she’s being, nails scratching with the intent to hurt, and when she pulls on Shaw’s hair she does it with more force than usual. She pulls off Shaw’s blasted tank top the first chance she gets and hisses when she finally digs her fingers into heated skin. Shaw’s own moans in her mouth make her think that Shaw has no objections to that either.

 

But her patience reached the end of its tether 20 minutes ago and she grabbed Shaw’s right hand and tugs it toward her, sliding it down to where she really wants- _needs_ it, and then grinds down hard. At the contact, she tears her mouth away from Shaw’s to arch her back, the groan of relief being ripped from her throat. She tightens her legs around Shaw to pull herself nearer, and her hands have gotten lost somewhere in the _delectable_ mess of Shaw’s hair, digging her nails into her scalp and _oh my fucking god_ -

 

Root is aware she is shaking. _Everything_ feels hypersensitive; Shaw’s fingers are deep inside her and curling and rough and fucking and she almost sobs in both relief and demand. The next minute is chock-full of her whimpers, Shaw’s groaning- She’s not really sure who’s making what sounds, or whose hands belong to who, or who’s skin is burning more than the other’s, but she is aware of _overwhelming_ _sensation_ , of the friction inside her and surrounding her, and she is aware of the pounding in her ears, the blood rush in her body.

 

She is less aware of the spew of nonsense pouring out of her mouth, punctuated by “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as she feels Shaw pounding against that spot inside that makes her incoherent with pleasure.

  
Root knows Shaw is watching her with enough intensity to make her -god forbid- swoon, but she can’t keep her eyes open anymore when Shaw curls her fingers inside her with just the right amount of pressure, keeping a steady rhythm and Shaw’s thumb is _relentless_ on her clit in rough, rapid circular motions, and suddenly-

 

“Oh, my, fucking-” Her breath hitches, “ _God_ , Sameen, I’m, I’m going to-”

 

And just like that, Root jolts against Shaw’s hand violently, lurching forward and bites down hard on Shaw’s neck as she comes, twitching and trembling against her will against Shaw, her hands gripping Shaw’s hair tightly. It takes her a second to hear past the roaring in her ears and the sound of her own panting, before she realizes that Shaw is clenching her jaw through muffled groaning, hand still inside of her.

 

She is not prepared for Shaw to suddenly _resume_ her fucking, faster and harder, her sensitive flesh protesting and welcoming the friction alike, and she releases a strangled choking noise. She tries to growl but it tapers off to a long moan at the heightened feeling. Her hands feel out of her control, and her chest heaves, fingers clawing at Shaw with no purpose other than to _grip something_ in desperation. She thinks she has never felt so wild with need.

 

She tries to curse at Shaw but she supposes the effect is almost completely lost because Shaw shuts her up with teeth and tongue and an approving moan back in response to her frantic gnawing. She wrenches her mouth away from Shaw again and tries to call her a fucker but ends up with what sounds dangerously close to a needy whine, and then she gives up trying to say anything.

 

Shaw’s hissing in her ear, telling her how good she feels, how _tight_ she is, how wet she is, how much she enjoys fucking her. How much she enjoys feeling her clench and unclench around her fingers, how she _likes_ it when Root is _loud_ , and its riling her up even faster, unable to resist the allure of the wicked voice in her ear.

 

When she comes the second time, Shaw forces her head toward her and a clear whimper worms its way up her throat (Root will never admit this even if you pointed a gun to her head), as Shaw pushes their mouths together, tongues tangling and teeth gnashing messily. And Root thinks she’s never felt more _utterly ruined_ as she rocks against Shaw, convulsing in her arms.

 

When Root stops quivering and regains her composure much, much later, she realizes that she tastes a familiar metallic tang and opens her eyes to see quite a lot of blood on Shaw’s swollen lips. Her own feels tender. Shaw’s expression is still clouded with lust, and Root thinks Shaw must be dripping wet herself by now, and that’s turning her on again, because now she really, really, _really_ wants to see Shaw come undone. She thinks she will never tire of the games they play.

 

“Don’t worry, they’re not all mine. You bit yourself quite some time ago,” Shaw manages to say, her voice made out of gravel. Shaw swallows. Root is annoyed that she was so lost in her fog of desire that she didn’t even know when it happened, and still annoyed that Shaw had made such a _thorough mess_ of her tonight (she doesn’t know if her legs will ever have the strength for her to stand up ever again), so she just growls and bites Shaw on the lips again.

 

“You _fucker_ ,” Root grunts, striking a palm against Shaw’s chest, breathing heavily into Shaw’s parted lips. Shaw cocks an eyebrow in return, and the corner of her lips kick upward. Root licks her lips unconsciously, “you absolute _asshole_.” The way Shaw’s eyes flicker downward to follow the movement of her tongue does not go unnoticed by Root.

 

Shaw puts up a half-hearted struggle and a weak protest when Root finds herself pushing Shaw down this time, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. When she presses her lips on the smaller ex-assassin’s, she feels Shaw’s mouth curling further upwards and she thinks she wants nothing more than to wipe that shit-eating self-satisfied grin from her face.

 

She doesn’t know when Shaw learned how to _play_ quite like this, but after the last hour, she really has no complaints. The smell of Shaw and the taste of her skin is overwhelming and not enough at the same time, flooding her senses, sending her body into overdrive again, and she is glad for the momentary reprieve this war has given them, that there are some days (or in this case, night) that make her want to continue fighting.


End file.
